


Just let me adore you (like it's the only thing I'll ever do)

by bookishandbossy



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, so much fluff friends, television reporter AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:33:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22024876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookishandbossy/pseuds/bookishandbossy
Summary: Leo Fitz is Jemma Simmons' favorite work colleague, local weatherman, and everything else in between.  He may also be the love of her life.
Relationships: Jemma Simmons & Skye | Daisy Johnson, Leo Fitz & Jemma Simmons, Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons
Comments: 44
Kudos: 142





	Just let me adore you (like it's the only thing I'll ever do)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ughfitz (wokemeup)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wokemeup/gifts).



> Written for ughfitz for the FS Secret Santa Exchange on Tumblr.
> 
> Title is from "Adore You" by Harry Styles

_Today at 10am: We're chatting with inventor Tony Stark and his latest creation, a mechanical suit that he's calling Iron Man. It's new, improved, and (mostly) explosion-free._

“English Breakfast, splash of milk, two sugars, right?” 

The cup of tea appeared in front of Jemma Simmons like a miracle sent down straight through the heavens and she grabbed for it instinctively. She couldn't quite make it out through the strands of hair that were hanging down in front of her face while her hairstylist curled the rest but there was something that looked very much like a lemon ginger scone resting next to it.

“You're my favorite person in the entire world,” she declared fervently and risked the wrath of her hairstylist to grab the mug and take a sip. It was steeped perfectly, the milk and sugar just sweet enough to balance out the strong flavor of the black tea, and possibly the best thing she'd had all morning. (She'd been up since three and so far, she'd eaten a Greek yogurt, half a banana, and a very small piece of pumpkin spice bark from Trader Joe's that some cruel hearted person had left in the green room to tempt all of them.)

From across the greenroom, Leo Fitz, weatherman extraordinare and her best friend at the station, saluted her with his own mug. “So I've upgraded then. Last week I was only your favorite person in the continental United States.”

“There happened to be some people I'm very fond of in Hawaii last week,” Jemma said. “Daisy and Robbie brought me back fancy coffee from their honeymoon.”

“But did either of them bring you a brownie? Because I did.” Fitz produced a paper bag from behind his back and set it on her desk with a flourish.

“I can't eat that until I'm off the air,” she said sadly. “Chocolate always gets everywhere.”

“For after, then. When are you done?”

“Around three, I think. Then home to feed the beast and decide which fine take-out establishment I'm going to grace with my patronage.” The beast in question was her cat Crowley, a massive bundle of black fluff who ruled over her household with a tyrant's paw. “What about you?”

“Same thing. Not much going on weather-wise so...I can't wait for blizzard season.” He looked quite cheerful at the prospect. “Would you want to grab some food after? They're having another bunch of food trucks downtown tonight and I plan on sampling them all.”

“I would, but I've got some networking thing tonight. Maybe we--”

That was when the makeup artist starting in on her cheeks told her to stop moving her mouth. She went silent, grimacing apologetically at Fitz while moving her mouth as little as possible. For a moment, he almost looked disappointed but then he shifted into a detailed story about the latest glitch in the weather map, stretching his hands as wide as they would go to indicate the size of the blank spot on last Tuesday's broadcast. She must have imagined it. After all, she and Fitz saw each other every morning five days a week and usually ended up getting coffee or dinner together afterward three days out of five. It was really a miracle that he hadn't gotten sick of her yet. 

She ended up texting him that night anyway, after she'd gotten back from the networking event and collapsed on her couch, her jaw aching from having to hold a friendly yet restrained smile the entire night. Accidentally ordered too much sushi—want to come over for an hour or two? The beast is demanding your presence and I'm afraid of the consequences if I don't obey his will. 

He arrived twenty minutes later, a pint of ice cream in hand and a ridiculous dragon toy for the cat in the other. 

_This morning at 7:30, we're talking with university scientist Bruce Banner about his groundbreaking radiation therapy techniques._  
“So he was nice?” Fitz asked over pancakes at their favorite breakfast all day diner. “You swear?”

“Of course he was. Rather quiet, actually.” It had been a struggle getting decent quotes out of him for the first few minutes of the interview, before Dr. Banner had finally warmed up to her and started telling entertaining stories about his various lab accidents.

“You're sure?”

“I'm perfectly capable of handling grumpy scientists on my own, you know.” She narrowed her eyes at him, mildly annoyed now. 

“I know you can. Sorry, I didn't mean to...” Fitz trailed off, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I know you're a brilliant interviewer and I've seen you handle worse, I just—I worried when I shouldn't have. It's a terrible habit that I have for all my friends and I really should get around to breaking it someday. I'm sorry.”

“Apology accepted. I swear,” she added. “He was as mild and sweet tempered as a kitten.”

“Good. He has a terrible temper when he really gets going. Breaks things, shouts—he only does it in his office when he thinks no one's around but he never manages to get all his mess cleaned up in time. His grad students call him the Hulk. My ex-girlfriend worked in his lab while she was doing her post-doc,” Fitz explained. 

“I didn't know you had an ex-girlfriend. Or any kind of girlfriend.” She peered at him curiously, trying to imagine what kind of girl Fitz might have liked. There were a million and one questions poised on the tip of her tongue, from how they had met to why they had broken up, but she glanced across the table to where Fitz was frowning into his coffee and settled back against the booth.

“I've been told that being a weatherman is very attractive. I think it's my way of pointing at the weather map that really does it. And I sometimes even hold my own umbrella,” he said solemnly.

“I've always dreamed of finding a man who can hold his own umbrella,” Jemma agreed, trying to hide her grin behind her mug of tea.

He gasped. “Jemma Simmons, I never knew that you had such a dirty mind.”

“Oh, you have no idea.”

Fitz nearly choked on a bite of pancake. 

_Today at 8, Tony Stark is back! No explosions this time (we really mean it)!_  
“I'll bet you twenty dollars that it blows up again,” Fitz whispered from behind her. Jemma nearly jumped out of her seat and her makeup artist shot her another death glare.

“It's not going to. They made him sign a waiver this time and everything.”

“It's definitely going to blow up. That's why people watch whenever we interview him, to see how the suit blows up this time.”

She really hated to admit it but Fitz had a point. 

“Twenty dollars,” Fitz repeated. “And I'll buy you a pastry.”

“You buy me pastries all of the time. I don't really see what's in for me,” she teased. 

“I'll go to the French bakery that's all the way across town and bring you back an entire box of petit fours. Only the good flavors.”

“Deal.” She stuck out her hand and they shook on it. 

Gloriously, miraculously, the suit didn't blow up. It sparked a bit near the end of the interview and there were some alarming puffs of smoke midway through but it survived the full fifteen minutes. (A Tony Stark first.) The next day, there was a white pastry box sitting at her makeup station, tied with a pink satin ribbon and containing twelve exquisitely iced and decorated petit fours. 

She'd only mentioned that bakery once or twice, she remembered later that day. They had the flakiest pastry she'd ever tasted outside of Paris but it took three different buses and a fifteen-minute walk to get there. It had been really sweet of Fitz to remember. 

_The Asgardian workout—get a godlike body with Thor Odinson_  
“I'm not sure I can even do one push-up,” Fitz said gloomily. Backstage, the bearded trainer was cheerfully doing one-handed push ups with one of the production assistants sitting on his back and looking like she couldn't believe her luck.

“I bet you could do one. Two, if the circumstances were dire. Like a zombie apocalypse,” Jemma added absently, still staring at Thor's biceps. The man was truly magnificent. She hadn't known that a human body could even look like that and now that she did, she would treasure the memory of it forever. 

“Why would I need to do push-ups in a zombie apocalypse?”

“They're strange things, zombie apocalypses. You never know what might happen.” She turned to look at Fitz, assessing him carefully. “Actually, you might not do too badly.”

Fitz certainly wasn't rippling with muscle but he did fill out his plaid button-down shirts rather nicely, she realized. His shoulders were the sort you could reliably lean on, if you were so inclined, and once, when he'd been stuck reporting live from a rainstorm without an umbrella, his shirt had soaked clean through and everyone had been pleasantly surprised at what it revealed. It was still one of the station's most viewed YouTube clips. In fact, she was willing to wager that if someone was willing to conduct a really thorough investigation, they'd find all sorts of--

“Don't tell me that I got pumpkin spice cream cheese on my shirt again,” Fitz said and Jemma realized she'd been staring at him for the last few minutes.

“No, although I still can't understand how you can willingly eat that.”

“Pumpkin spice everything is one of the greatest of all American innovations. I'm simply appreciating it. They had pumpkin bagels at the Trader Joe's two towns over and no one was willing to go with me to get them,” he said mournfully. “I could have maximized the pumpkin spice experience.”

Jemma really had no idea as to how she could have been admiring his shoulders a mere ten minutes ago. Fitz was Fitz. Prone to unfortunate culinary experimentation and building sculptures out of leftover plastic cutlery in the green room and simply not her type. Even if he did have very nice shoulders. 

_Today at 9, we have a sit-down with war hero Steve Rogers_  
“That was a really good interview. I've seen other people talk to him and they always get the same kinds of quotes. But that was something different,” Fitz said. “I felt like I actually learned something new about him. 

She flushed with pleasure. “I think he just wanted someone to ask him different kinds of questions. He gives the same answers over and over because he gets the exact same questions. Not that difficult to figure out.”

“Only if you happen to be as brilliant as Jemma Simmons.”

She dimpled up at him and grabbed her bag from the back of her chair. “Did you want to come out to dinner tonight? I'm meeting Daisy and Robbie and they said to bring you along. I think they want to say thank you for the wedding gift because they're tragically behind on their thank you notes.”

“Of course. I think they really had the best wedding out of everyone we knew. A good wedding band, an entire dessert table, and they didn't get into a vicious fight about the best way to cut the wedding cake. Although the vicious fight might just be a Bobbi and Hunter thing, now that I think of it.”

“But one for the ages. I'd never seen a wedding topper used quite like that,” she said thoughtfully as he held the door open for her and they headed down the hallway of SHIELD Studios. “I think I'd quite like to elope sometimes. No fights, no planning, no expensive dress...I could just put on a pair of jeans and go down to the town hall.”

“It would be nice to not have any of that fuss—just sneak away and let everyone know after the fact. But I think I'd miss the sight of you in a white dress,” he added, so quietly that she wasn't sure if she'd been meant to hear it. 

“Were you flirting with Fitz?” Daisy said and leaned across the table, eyes wide, the moment that Fitz and Robbie went over to the bar to fetch their first round of drinks. “How long have you been flirting with Fitz for?”

“Of course I wasn't,” she said primly. “And I haven't been. What would I even flirt with Fitz for?”

“Because you like him, why else? You were sitting very close together in the booth,” Daisy pointed out, her eyes now alight with investigative fervor. “And you've been laughing at all of his jokes, even the puns.”

“I've always appreciated a good pun.”

“You don't always laugh at my puns. Should I be mortally offended? Anyway, point number three...” She paused for dramatic effect. “Point number three is that I saw you check him out when he got up to get the drinks.”

“I thought I saw a stain on his shirt!” It was a logical thing to assume—Fitz had a habit of spilling things on himself, to the point where he would have been wardrobe's least favorite person if he hadn't bribed them with donuts on a bi-weekly basis. 

Daisy just smirked at her and settled back into her seat. And when Fitz and Robbie returned with the drinks, she made a point of sitting at least a few feet away from him. Even if it made significantly more difficult to get to the waffle fries or if she missed having his warmth beside her in the chilliness of the bar. 

Daisy had just returned from her honeymoon, Jemma reasoned. She was bound to be seeing romantic potential everywhere. The story that Robbie about how Daisy had tried to get two fellow resort guests together, going to the point of having them accidentally booked in for a romantic couples massage together, only confirmed it. 

So when Fitz offered to walk her home and she felt a renegade swoop in her stomach, she tried her best to ignore it. 

_The Chitauri invade! Today we've assembled an expert panel to walk you through the best way to defend your home against these insect marauders._  
They never meant to go viral. Her producer had told her that audiences responded well when there was a bit of banter with the weatherman and she and Fitz have always had good banter. So they bantered. She'd said about looking forward to hearing about the weather every day just because of him. He'd said something about it being a pleasure just to tell her about it. Light, easy teasing, the sort of thing that good friends say to each other all the time. Someone named Watermelon 16 filmed themselves reacting to it and put it on YouTube with the title CUTEST WORKPLACE ROMANCE EVER. In a few hours, it'd spread across the internet at lightning speed and the station's highly anticipated informative panel on how to deal with the current Chitauri insect infestation has completely fallen by the wayside. 

“We're a hashtag,” she said, blinking confusedly at the station's Twitter account as the intern in charge of running it vibrated with excitement next to her. “How did we become a hashtag?”

“People like cute things. And the two of you are extremely cute. You're not dating in real life, right?” The intern looked at her hopefully. “Because if you were, we could--”

“Of course not!”

The intern looked like she'd been told that Santa wasn't real by a group of mean older kids on the playground. 

Jemma wasn't sure if she was supposed to say anything. Or do anything. Or reply to any of the mentions or messages that were suddenly flooding all her social media. So instead she sat in the green room and methodically tore a croissant into very small pieces. 

“We're memes,” Fitz declared as he flopped down beside her. “I never knew that I wanted to be a meme until I was one.”

She offered him a weak smile and went back to tearing up her croissant.

“Are you all right, Jem?”

“For the most part, I am. I just...” she paused. “I'm terrified that I'll do or say something wrong. Or that I've already done it and never realized it and any minute now someone's going to dig it up.”

“You're one of the best people I've ever met, you know that? And I know that whatever happens next, you'll get it right.” He put an arm around her shoulders, tugging her close, and she let herself fall against him. “Wouldn't have wanted to go viral with anyone else.”

“Thank you, I suppose.” She sighed and settled herself more comfortably against his shoulder. “Think they'd let us do some sort of segment together if we asked nicely and told them about the hashtag?”

“I think that there's nothing I'd like better.”

_Today, Leo Fitz and Jemma Simmons go on site to talk to Tony Stark about his latest version of the Iron Man Suit._  
“Do you guys have a couple name?” Tony Stark asked in the middle of showing them the massive crater version 3.5 of the suit had left in the wall of the living room. “You should have a couple name."

“We're not a couple, so no,” Fitz said cheerfully. “But we'd happily take a platonic friends/coworkers name. We thought about Lemma but that sounded a bit like the name for a fizzy drink that never made it past the testing stages.”

“Use your last names, then. Something like Fitzsimmons. Has a nice sound to it.”

“That...actually doesn't sound too bad,” Jemma said. Fitzsimmons. She thought that she liked the shape of it.

“Of course not.” Stark snorted. “I happen to be a certified genius.”

They used the name once or twice in the promos for their Stark interview, just to test it out. It caught on much more quickly than anyone had expected. 

_Today we're covering this year's best selling Halloween costume—the sexy Dark Elf costume_  
“That thing is an abomination,” Fitz said and poked at the pair of glittery leggings with one finger. A shower of glitter fell onto the floor. The leggings were still covered with more glitter than should be legal. “They can't really be expecting one of us to wear this.”

“They're trying to create a viral moment,” Jemma said glumly. She thought that the ears were the worst part but the oddly shaped breastplate (complete with nipples stamped on) was mounting a serious challenge for the crown. “Don't worry, I already told them that we would do a couples costume.”

“A couples costume?” Fitz stared at her with pure horror. “Last year I just put on a top hat and everyone was happy.”

“This one's very simple,” she reassured him. “No elf ears necessary. All you need to do is tie a bow tie and look charming.”

It had started when she'd seen the most gorgeous TARDIS dress on Etsy. The perfect shade of blue, with a corseted top and full skirt that parted in the front to reveal a print of the TARDIS interior and accompanied by the most adorable tiny hat she'd ever seen. It was handmade and somewhat absurdly expensive. She'd bought it anyway. Then she'd promptly pitched the Doctor-TARDIS couples costume idea to her producers. 

Pictures of them in their costumes circulated at a fast clip and when they appeared at Daisy and Robbie's annual Halloween party still in them, they were greeted by applause and a poorly timed round of wolf whistles. (Hunter, if she had to bet on it.) She hadn't had the time to find a second costume and Fitz had looked quite dashing in his long tweed coat and bow tie and maybe she'd wanted to show off the dress just a little more. And take a picture with Fitz in front of the elaborate Halloween backdrop Daisy had crafted.

She regretted her decision, however, when Daisy cornered her by the ghost-shaped cookies. 

“I see that you and Fitz coordinated your costumes,” Daisy said in the same kind of hushed tones that she might have used to announce she'd discovered a superhero's secret identity.

“It was for work and then we thought it was much too good to only use for work.” She did a little twirl to illustrate her point. “Bobbi and Mack are wearing matching Star Wars costumes and they're just doing it as friends.”

“Bobbi and Mack don't flirt shamelessly on live TV. We watch the morning show now—Robbie and I even have a running bet on how many weather puns Fitz makes in an effort to impress you.”

“I can't believe you didn't watch it before.” Jemma gasped and put her hand over her heart, mock-offended. 

“And Fitz has always made weather puns,” she pointed out. “Now he just has a wider platform for them. Our audience is quite fond of it.”

“But no one likes Fitz's weather puns as much as you do.” Then Daisy winked at her, very slowly, and strolled away

“Your wife is a menace to society,” she told Robbie when she encountered him by the gummy worm festooned punch bowl.

“I know,” Robbie said fondly. “That's why I married her.”

_Learn how to prep for winter weather with Bucky Barnes_  
It was completely, entirely the weather system's fault. Also the show's producers. They had had an idea for on the spot reporting from the site of the largest blizzard to hit Oregon in decades, a tiny town nestled into the Cascades. Jemma and Fitz were supposed to look charming modeling snowstorm preparedness with Bucky Barnes, a noted survival expert, and there'd been talk of using Fitz as a human snow meter. 

There had not been any mentions of what they were supposed to do if they got snowed in. Which they were. Foot upon foot of snowed in at the only existing AirBnb in town, a tiny A-frame cabin tucked into the backyard of a woman who definitely recognized them and had left them a bottle of wine with a note signed with a winky face. And Bucky Barnes had flatly refused to film any more survivalist segments, Fitz was in danger of getting frostbite if he was used as a human snow meter any longer, and there was no way in or out of town. So Jemma was being enterprising and trying to find something to do within the (admittedly very limited) confines of their AirBnb. 

“We could do a puzzle,” she suggested and stretched forward to see into the back of the ancient entertainment console that took up half the living room. “Or play Scrabble.”

“Things got heated the last time we played Scrabble,” Fitz said from where he was sprawled on the couch. “My copy of the official Scrabble dictionary may never be the same.”

“We could read all the good parts of Agatha Christie out loud. She has quite the collection.” Jemma held up a battered copy of Death on the Nile as proof. “Or watch every Julia Roberts movie in order and argue about the evolution of her career.”

Fitz perked up at that. “Does she have Notting Hill? I quite like that one.”

“I'm a man of hidden depths, Simmons,” he protested when she shot him an odd look. “I've always wanted to do the Julia Roberts thing and tell someone that I'm just a boy standing in front of a girl, asking her to love him.”

He looked strangely sincere when he said it and Jemma felt her heart give a little thump in her chest. Fitz wasn't necessarily the type to go around making big declarations but she had a feeling that if he ever did, he'd put his all into it. (That he'd love whoever he decided to love with everything he possibly could.)

“Right,” she said briskly. “If this is going to work, you're going to have to give up at least half of the couch.”

Fitz groaned but he moved over anyway and ceded half of the massive knitted afghan he'd uncovered to her. They made microwave popcorn a quarter of the way through the movie and drank half of the bottle of wine their host had left, after a fierce argument about whether drinking it would give her the wrong idea (“we can't just let half-decent wine go to waste, can we?”) and somehow, in the midst of trying to spread out properly on the couch, she found her head pressed up against Fitz's shoulder. She shifted to the left and then to the right but there simply wasn't enough room. No matter how they rearranged themselves, her legs ended up bumping up against his or her head collided with his chest or their hands collided on the couch cushions. 

“Just use me as a pillow,” Fitz said after a particularly painful incident involving an elbow and the most sensitive part of his stomach. “My body's already been exploited for the sake of television ratings. I can take it.”

“You're sure?”

“I make great sacrifices for our friendship.”

She settled in against his chest with a sigh of relief and a few minutes later, he slid an arm around her shoulders. It was quite comfortable, really. More comfortable than she'd thought anyone could possibly be on a slightly too small, sagging in the middle plaid couch. Fitz was warm and solid and just the tiniest bit of a cuddler. 

Maybe that was what changed her mind when the bed problem came up.

“There's only one bed—you should take it. I'll be fine on the couch.” Fitz grabbed two pillows from the floor and propped them up behind his head, spreading his arms and yawning wide. “See? Pure luxury.”

The effect was somewhat ruined by the fact that half of his legs were dangling over the arm of the couch, his neck was cricked to the side to fit against the couch cushions, and every time he shifted, the sound of his joints cracking echoed throughout the room. The bed was huge, she reasoned. More than big enough for two people to share. 

“Don't be silly. You just spent half a day standing outside in the snow and that bed is massive.” It easily took up a third of the house. “I won't even know that you're there once I fall asleep. Besides, if you sleep on the couch, you'll wake up all grumpy and then I'll have to go on some kind of daring expedition through the snow to get you donuts. So you'd really be doing me a favor.”

“A favor?” Fitz raised both eyebrows at her. 

“Absolutely.”

She took the left edge of the bed and Fitz took the right, each of them positioned as far away as they could get without falling off, their backs carefully turned to each other. After a spirited period of debate, they were able to equally divide the pillows and blankets between them and each pull their pile to their side of the bed. Almost like sleeping in a bed on her own, really. 

“I swear,” Jemma said just before she turned to switch off the light. “I won't even know you're there.”

In the end, she did. Mostly because she woke up curled against him, their hands twisted together, his arm thrown across her and pulling her closer, the most content she'd felt in months. She leaped out of bed the moment that she realized it and tried to scrub the memory from her mind with a recitation of all the embarrassing moments she'd witnessed from Fitz over the years. The time he'd lost his keys and attempted to break into his apartment through the bathroom window, only to get stuck halfway through the window. The time he'd accidentally bitten down on a hot pepper, chugged half a gallon of milk, and spilled the other half all over Daisy's favorite rug. The time he'd misread the teleprompter, hidden his face in shame, and briefly become a frequently used gif. 

It didn't work. 

_Who is Groot? Today we're going deep on the secrets of the town's historic tree with master arborist Robert “Rocket” Raccoon._  
Things were different. She'd told herself that things weren't going to be different—vowed it, with the kind of fierce determination that she'd previously applied to learning French, mastering the art of making alfredo sauce, and finding a pair of boots whose heels she wouldn't wear down every year—and yet they had been. She was aware of Fitz in a new, unsettling way and sometimes she suspected that he was aware of her too.

Like now, as she stood in front of a truly massive tree valiantly fighting to keep her heels from sinking inches deep into the mud and Fitz quietly came over to offer his arm. Like the smile he surreptitiously shot at her when Rocket started talking about his experiments with ayahuasca. It was the same sideways smile he'd always reserved for her, only with an extra dimple tucked into the edges of it. Like the tea he brought over to her afterward, with extra honey for her throat, and the way his fingers brushed hers as he handed it over.

They took a picture in front of the tree after they were done shooting and she posted it on Instagram. Daisy commented with half a dozen heart and flame emojis.

(She'd told her about the whole sharing a bed thing. Very casually and nonchalantly, while they'd been grabbing coffee one day. Daisy had nearly choked on a bite of biscotti.)

_Today psychic Wanda Maximoff tells us what the future holds..._  
They never should have brought the psychic on. Wanda Maximoff, arms stacked with heavy silver bracelets and sporting heavy eye makeup, took one look at Jemma's tarot cards and pronounced that she was madly in love and should tell whoever it was immediately.

“So who are you in love with, Simmons?” Fitz asked and sank into the chair next to hers. “There's a betting pool going round the studio and I'll split my winnings with you if you give me some inside information.”

“No one. They probably told her to say that so the segment would get talked about.” She sighed and pulled a handful of bobby pins out of her hair. “How do they plan on figuring out who wins the betting pool?”

“To be determined. But I'm still going to win. Because I know you better than almost anyone.”

“You do not!”

“I won Jemma Trivia at your last birthday,” he pointed out.

“Only because you made flashcards.” The flashcards had been deeply charming. Color-coordinated, even. (She'd kept a few of them.)

“So you think that I'm in love then.” She turned to face him fully, propping her arms on top of her chair, and narrowed her eyes at him. “Present your scientific evidence. With sources, please.”

“I don't think you're in love yet. I think you could be falling in love and I think that when that happens, it'll be a spectacular thing to see,” Fitz said softly. “You're one of the most loyal and kind people I know and I...I just think you'll love whoever you choose very well.”

Neither of them said anything for a while after that. 

She had always thought that love was a bit like a lightning strike in its inevitability, something that flattened you and left you gasping. But maybe it was something you chose to fall into with eyes wide open, savoring every minute of the fall. She'd beaten down every single flicker and flutter of anything more than friendship for Fitz with savage determination and convinced herself that anything she might let surface would overpower her. But maybe she could choose it instead of letting it choose her. And maybe it would be the most wonderful thing she could imagine. 

_Today, a spotlight on the city's rehabilitation program, which finds employment for the recently incarcerated at local businesses._  
It happened in an ice cream store. Not a particularly good or an especially picturesque ice cream store. It had a neon sign of an ice cream cone in a shade of lurid green that flashed on and off ten hours a day, distinctively unappetizing pictures of ice cream that looked like a plastic play set for toddlers, three very sticky formica tables haphazardly arranged in a row, and one unenthusiastic ex-convict named Scott Lang, the reason they had been reporting from the store in the first place. 

“I wouldn't recommend the rum raisin,” he said. “Or the mint chocolate chip. Kids drop the mint chocolate chip on the floor and they don't even cry.”

“What's this one?” Fitz pointed to a bright pink scoop.

“Bubblegum. Avoid at all costs.”

“And this one?” Fitz moved on to a neon yellow ice cream studded with bits of cookie dough (or something that was supposed to be cookie dough), grinning easily. He was having a great time, she could tell, and she felt a sudden wave of affection at his easy way with people and the way his eyes looked even bluer under this awful fluorescent light and the pun he was undoubtedly about to make at the sight of the store's signature sundae served in a traffic cone. 

“Fitz, do you want to get ice cream with me?” she blurted out, so fast that it took a moment for it to to register with him.

“Right now? Here?”

“No, not h--”

“I wouldn't recommend getting ice cream here,” Scott chimed in. “Especially not the strawberry.”

“It doesn't have to be ice cream. We could get coffee? Or a drink? Whatever you'd like,” she trailed off and resisted the urge to worry at her lower lip. “Like a date. I mean, not like a date—it would be a date. If you were interested in that. It doesn't have to be anything serious, I thought it could be a sort of trial date, to see if...”

“Jemma, I would love to get ice cream with you.” He was looking at her, face completely open and surprised, something fragile and lovely in his eyes that she'd never seen before. “Very much.”

In the background, Scott actually applauded. 

_Today, Steve Rogers and Tony Stark, presenting two opposing citizens' views on the recent proposed zoning legislation._  
“I hear you guys are going on a date.” Maria Hill was standing by Jemma's makeup station, looking very pleased with herself.

“Who told you that?”

“One of the cameraman heard it from one of the makeup artists who heard it from one of the junior producers who heard it from Scott Lang's girlfriend,” Maria said. “We have an idea for a segment.”

Jemma was shaking her head before Maria even finished her sentence.

“Just wait until you hear it. We get Steve Rogers and Tony Stark on after their recent battle about zoning laws and have each of them plan a date for you. Then the audience votes on which date you and Fitz go on and we show the winning date live. It's everything that our local audience loves.” Maria spread her hands wide triumphantly. “Steve and Tony going head to head and you and Fitz being adorable.”

“We're not going to go on a date while we're at work. Besides, what if it's terrible?” Jemma said and was briefly struck dumb by the horrifying thought that it might be terrible. “What if it's thirty minutes of awkward silence?”

“It's you and Fitz. You don't do awkward silence,” Maria argued. 

“No,” Jemma said firmly. “Some things don't belong on TV.” 

“Did Maria ask you too? She really tried to sell me on it,” Fitz said when they'd settled in at the coffee shop they'd agreed to. “I had to check over my shoulder three times on the way here to make sure she hadn't secretly sent camera crews after us.”

“She did. Although I am curious about what they might have planned,” Jemma admitted and took a long sip of her tea. 

“I have it on good authority that Tony's would have involved his helicopter. We may have missed out.”

“I like this much better.” They'd found a table tucked away in a back corner of the book-lined cafe, with a tiled table top and a row of basil and mint plants lining the windowsill next to them. It was the sunniest day Portland had seen in weeks, they'd managed to grab two of the gooey sticky buns, and Fitz had worn a snug gray cable knit sweater that she knew for a fact he only wore for special occasions and that fact made her unaccountably happy.

“I do too.” Underneath the table, his knee brushed against hers. She didn't move away.

It was the kind of first date that she hadn't known existed. Easy, conversation bouncing back and forth between them, but with a spark humming beneath all of it that lent an extra energy to their words. A tingling awareness of exactly how far away from her Fitz was and all the places they might possibly touch. The feeling that the rest of the world had melted away and left the two of them in this tiny pocket of space and time that stretched out to infinity.

They talked until the cafe closed and a waitress gently evicted them. Fitz walked her all the way back to her apartment and even though he'd been inside a million times before, carefully paused on her doorstep when they arrived. 

“That...that was good. Might've been the best date I've had in a long time,” Fitz said, his eyes fixed on the ground, a blush creeping up his neck. She'd never met anyone able to become so magnicently awkward so quickly and she'd never found it so endearing. 

“That was the best one I've had in a long time too.”

“Right.” Fitz nodded and took a deep breath. “Is it all right if I kiss you? I mean, I'd really like to if you'd be--”

Jemma surged up on her toes and pressed her mouth to his. It was the kind of first kiss that she hadn't known existed either. 

_Learn how to meditate with Stephen Strange_  
Jemma Simmons did not feel centered. Or Zen or balanced or in tune with the Force or whatever it was she was supposed to be feeling as Portland's resident expert in the occult made dramatic hand motions and claimed to be able to read her energy aura. 

Three days ago, she had had the best first date of her life with Leo Fitz. She'd been convinced they were going to plan a second date immediately. And she'd had a kiss that seemed to be permanently imprinted on her lips. Now, the date was rapidly receding in the past. They hadn't planned a second date yet. And she still couldn't stop thinking about that kiss. (It'd made her topple out of tree pose three times in yoga class yesterday.)

“I just found out the best thing ever,” Fitz declared as he appeared over her shoulder. Her tea came very close to spilling all over her blouse. “Dr. Strange is in a band that does punk versions of 90's boy band hits. They perform every Thursday night and I may have gotten us tickets. I thought we could maybe get dinner beforehand—there's this great new Thai place and they're supposed to have really good mango sticky rice, which I know is one of your favorites so...I found a pizza place, too. And Indian. So we'll have options.”

A wide smile spread across Jemma's face. “Like a second date?”

“Yeah, like a second date. I meant to ask you earlier but I was trying to find something really cool for us to do, because you deserve something really fantastic and that took longer than I was hoping it might.” Fitz winced. “But I have an idea now and hopefully you'll still go?”

“So you want to go on a second date with me? Officially?”

“Jemma, I would have to be an absolute idiot not to want to go on a second date with you. And I happen to only be a little bit of an idiot.”

If they hadn't been at work, she would have kissed him. As it was, she hugged him so enthusiastically that she saw several of the interns sneakily film it. 

_Worried about sibling conflict over the holidays? Today we have advice experts Gamora and Nebula on to talk about their own experience overcoming sibling rivalry._

“Were they terrifying when you interviewed them? They looked terrifying from across the stage,” Fitz said. “Especially when they started arguing.”

“Only a little bit. I'll just be glad once all this holiday stuff is over.” The station had decided to be extra festive this year and so far she'd been sent out of the studio to interview vendors at the annual holiday market, report live from the Christmas tree lighting, nearly fall down at least five times at the ice skating rink, and learn how to play dreidel at the local synagogue. (An eight-year-old had trounced her and taken all her gelt.)

Fitz slipped an arm around her waist when she wobbled on her impossibly high heels and she leaned back against him with a sigh of relief. It had been easy, this new way of being with him, easier than she had expected. They did so many of the same things they'd always done together: sushi and movies at her apartment, lazy afternoons spent browsing books at Powell's, comprehensive donut taste tests at Blue Star to determine once and for all whether the chocolate buttermilk old-fashioned was truly their best flavor, weekend hikes in the park where they stopped every few yards to pet other people's dogs. But now they kissed on the couch, missing entire stretches of the movie, and up against the shelves at Powell's when no one was looking. Now he let her take the last bite of donut or sushi or bread pudding and looked at her with a kind of amazement when she struck a silly pose whenever they reached a particularly scenic view. It was as if they'd taken a step or two sideways and slid into another version of themselves that had always been there. 

“Do you still want to make Christmas cookies then? I'll do all the work and you can lounge about on the couch and offer constructive criticism on my cookie decorating skills,” he offered. “And Daisy and Robbie want to go on a double date and get cheese boards sometime soon. They said that it's a central tenet of couples friendship.”

“We went to get cheese boards with them all the time before we were even dating.”

“But now they get to call it a double date and be extra pleased with themselves about it,” Fitz said. “They've been arguing about which one of them saw it coming first. But they're both very smug about it anyway.”

“I'm worried that it's been too easy,” she told Daisy after dinner. They were walking down the street with their soft-serve, Fitz and Robbie engaged in an animated conversation about the logistics of the Batmobile a few feet ahead of them. “Me and Fitz. No angst, no fighting, no big dramatic moments.”

Daisy arched an eyebrow at her. “Besides the fact that we've all been waiting for years for the two of you to get together?”

“No one's been pining away for years and casting longing glances across the television studio,” she said. “Once things changed between us, it just felt natural. Like it'd been meant to be that way all along.”

“Fitz pined.”

“He did?” Jemma stopped in the middle of the street, halfway through taking a bite of her ice cream. 

“For years. But you didn't hear it from me,” Daisy added quickly. “Completely unfounded rumor.”

“I think it being easy is a good thing,” Daisy said a few minutes later. “Nothing's ever going to always be easy. But the core of it—the way you are with each other—that should be easy. The easiest thing in the world.”

_State science fair winner Peter Parker demonstrates his web-shooters!_  
“Can we steal him and raise him as our own?” Fitz asked longingly. “He's my favorite guest we've ever had on.”

“I think fifteen is well past the raising as our own stage.” Jemma patted his shoulder consolingly. “Maybe if they have an elementary school science fair winner on, we can steal that one.”

“We'll have to train our kids for science fair domination. I have an entire ten-step plan.”

A thunderous silence fell between them.

“I made it weird, didn't I?” Fitz winced. “Sorry.”

“Only a little weird.” She shifted from foot to foot, her heel nearly bending under the pressure. “Fitz...did you pine at all? It's just that Daisy said something about you pining and I couldn't really picture it but then I thought that you might and you said that...”

“I pined a little bit. I, ah, I was a little bit in love with you.” Fitz smiled ruefully. “For quite a long time.”

“Still am. You don't have to say anything back,” he said softly. “Or say anything at all. But I thought you should know.”

She didn't say anything back. She didn't quite have the words for it yet. But she reached over and took his hand, squeezing tight, and let the golden warmth of it all flow through her. Leo Fitz loved her and that, she thought, was a rather remarkable thing. 

_Learn self defense with Tessa of Valkryie Martial Arts_  
“You throw an excellent punch.” Fitz was holding a pack of frozen peas they'd unearthed from the back of the craft services refrigerator to his jaw. The woman who ran Valkyrie Martial Arts had come on to teach a few simple self-defense moves and the producers had thought it would be fun to have Jemma practice on Fitz. Perhaps she'd gotten a little too into it. 

“Thank you. I'm sorry.” She leaned over to press a kiss to the uninjured side of his face. “I didn't think it would hit quite that hard.”

“It's all right. I've already resigned myself to the fact that I won't be able to gallantly defend you in the case of attack. You can karate chop any attackers for me,” he said happily.

“Well, I love you anyway. As the injured party, do you want to pick what we order for dinner?” She pulled out her phone to start swiping through menus. “We have pizza, Chinese, Vietnamese, gourmet grilled cheese, Ethiopian...”

She was met with silence and turned to see Fitz gaping at her.

“Sorry, could you—could you say that again?”

“The menus?”

“No, um, the other thing,” he mumbled.

“That I love you? I do. Very much.” It was so simple to say, in the end—the words had just come out without her even thinking twice about them. “I just thought you should know.”

The next thing she was going to say was cut off by Fitz pulling her close for a quite literally breathtaking kiss. She didn't mind at all. 

_Today, we're sitting down with Princess Shuri of Wakanda, here on a goodwill mission to establish a new Wakandan outreach center_  
Jemma only got to interview Princess Shuri because of a batch of spoiled oysters. The anchor who was supposed to do with it had come down with a bad case of food poisoning and Maria had called Jemma at three in the morning to ask if she could do it instead. She'd never gotten down to the station so quickly in her life.

And it had gone well. Much better than she could ever have imagined. The princess had been funny and charming and insightful and she'd liked Jemma's questions and given thoughtful answers to each of them. The interview had been picked up by some of the network's other affiliate stations throughout the Pacific Northwest and even a few down in California. She'd gotten a call from the head of the station to tell her how well she'd done and there'd been talk of giving her more interviews on her own during the morning show. She'd also gotten calls from a few producers from rival stations, asking her to give them a call or meet up for coffee. 

“If you got an offer from somewhere else, would you go?” They were in her living room and Fitz was watching her as he waited for the kettle to boil, something unreadable in his eyes. “Move to a new city?”

“Maybe?” She shrugged and tried to annoy the tension she could feel already building in her shoulders. “If it was a good offer, I'd definitely consider it. But I haven't gotten an offer yet so...I don't know what you want me to say. I don't know what I can say.”

“What happens to all of this if you move?” He swept a hand between them. “Meteorology jobs are hard to find and television jobs in meteorology are even harder to find. Do we do the long distance thing until I can find a job wherever you end up? Do we look for jobs together? Do you leave and never look back?”

“Fitz, I don't know! And I don't think it's fair for you to expect me to have everything planned out when I have no idea what might happen next,” she snapped. 

“I'd think I could expect that you'd at least consider what we have before you decide anything.” His lips were pressed together in a tight line and his fingers knotted around the handle of the kettle.

“I've never been the kind of person who makes every decision based on how it might affect her relationship,” she said sharply. “I didn't think you'd want me to be like that.”

“I'm not asking you to be like that. I just--” Fitz exhaled and slowly unwound his fingers from the kettle. “I wanted us to talk about it as a team, not as two completely separate people. But I'm not—I don't want to say something I'll regret, so I'm going to leave.”

The sound of the door shutting behind him was so soft that it was barely noticeable but she could have sworn that it echoed through her apartment afterward. 

_Gamora and Nebula are back to answer more of your questions! This time, we're focusing on forgiveness and sacrifice._  
She showed up on his doorstep four hours later to tell him that she was sorry. Fitz wasn't there—he'd gone across town to her apartment to tell her that he was sorry. They met in the middle and fell into each other's arms. 

“I'm sorry,” he gasped. “I shouldn't have demanded things of you like that. You should do whatever's best for you and we'll figure it out from there. I want you to be happy more than anything else.”

“I'm sorry too,” Jemma told him. “I shouldn't have snapped at you. It's all a lot and I don't know what the best thing to do is but I do know that whatever I do, I want you to be a part of it.”

“I will be,” he promised. “However you'll have me.”

_Today we're previewing the opening of Scott Lang and Hope Van Dyne's new coffee shop, Crawl and Sting_  
“So you guys are together now,” Scott said. “I can't believe it all started in my humble ice cream store. Technically not mine, since I got fired from there but...”

“The bubblegum ice cream did play an absolutely essential role,” Fitz said solemnly. 

“We could name a scone after the two of you. Or a cupcake. Or maybe a sandwich...”

“I hope that you know that there's no stopping him now,” Hope Van Dyne said dryly from where she was shooting photos of the cafe's facade. “Please tell me that having a sandwich named after you has been a lifelong dream of yours.”

The Fitzsimmons Special (prosciutto and buffalo mozzarella, with just a touch of homemade pesto aioli) was a smash hit. 

_Get the Carol Danvers look_  
“So the 90's are back, then?” Fitz asked.

“At least for today.” Jemma tried to readjust her massive neon scrunchie and got swatted away by her hairstylist. “I'm not sure I can quite pull it off.” 

“I think you look great,” he said and gave her a quick kiss. Her hairstylist audibly awwed. 

“I brought you a tea too. And a muffin.” He slid the mug in front of her, a waxed paper bag smelling of sugar and blueberries next to it. 

“You're my favorite person in the entire universe.” She dimpled up at him.

“I see that I've upgraded again, then.”

“Bring me a cookie and you can be my favorite person in parallel universes too.”

He produced one from behind his back with a flourish and she burst into laughter. 

“You're already my favorite person, you know,” she said softly. “Out of anyone. You always have been.”

_Are Portland's favorite on-air couple endgame? Find out tomorrow at 8am PST!_  
“Fitz is not going to propose to you on air, is he? Robbie says he isn't and I say he might. We have a little bit of a side bet going,” Daisy added. “Bobbi and Hunter wanted to get in on it too.”

“Fitz is not proposing on air. But we are going to move in together. We found a nice apartment in Hawthorne that allows cats—it's up on the second floor and there's these big windows that let in natural light and bookshelves built into the living room and the kitchen's not perfect but we're thinking of getting one of those rolling carts that I've wanted for ever and it's—it's going to be good,” she finished, smiling down into her coffee. “I think it's going to be really good.”

Jemma didn't mention the ring. She'd been getting Fitz's coat from the closet before they left to go to one of Bobbi's legendary snow day parties and her fingers had bumped against a square velvet box in his pocket. She hadn't opened it. She hadn't needed to. Because for now, everything that they had—the banter back and forth every morning on and off the air, the long Saturday afternoon walks, the Thursday night dinners together with records playing on his stereo and her cat winding around their feet, the feel of him sleeping beside her at night—was enough. More than enough.


End file.
